Harry Potter and What Happened After
by TabsAndSpaces
Summary: The war is over, but everything is far from all right. Harry goes on a journey of self-discovery to find healing and happiness and come to terms with what his experiences mean about life, death, and love.
1. Chapter 1: Shock

"Are you alright, mate?" Neville asked Harry as they brushed past each other in the stairwell, Neville entering Gryffindor tower after obviously having been awake all night, and Harry leaving it after sleeping for a few hours. Just over 24 hours ago, Harry had defeated the most terrible wizard in all the world. He'd spent the rest of that day consoling families in their grief and shaking a multitude of hands. Everybody wanted to see him and talk to him, and thank him for what he'd done. Finally he'd been able to escape the crowds and eventually even Ron and Hermione, and he'd made his way up to his bed in Gryffindor tower, where he'd collapsed in exhaustion and slept a mercifully dreamless sleep.

I'm in shock, Harry thought. "I'm fine. It was good to sleep," Harry said, and continued on his way.

Harry knew he was in shock. It was a distinctive feeling, like all of his emotions were being hidden from him by a thick rubber curtain, and he could feel them vibrating in the distance, but only little bits of them were coming through. He was grateful for the distance, but he feared what would happen when the shock wore off and his emotions were fully with him. It was that fear that kept him moving through his lingering exhaustion.

The first thing he did that morning was return the bloody Elder Wand to where it belonged in the White Tomb. He wept at seeing Dumbledore's body even though it wasn't a fresh grief, for Dumbledore had made Harry feel safe and hopeful for so many years, and he desperately needed that comfort now. In a flash of surreal clarity, Harry realized that the reason for his tears was that now his presence made others feel safe and hopeful, while he himself felt anxious and alone, and this dissonance was difficult to bear. For a moment he cried silently over Dumbledore's tomb, mourning the loss of the only person who could have taken the burden of responsibility from him. But he didn't let himself cry for long. "People need me," he told himself, so he took some deep breaths and calmed his heart, dried his eyes, and covered Dumbledore's tomb once more. Then he went back up to the school to see what needed to be done.

He spent most of that day working to levitate stones out of the passageways and courtyards, relishing the sweat and achiness that accompanied the difficult labor. At dinner time, Hermione found him clearing the third floor corridor that had been forbidden in their first year at Hogwarts.

"Harry," she said, "it's dinner time, come have some food."

He nodded.

"Ron's at the Burrow," Hermione went on, filling the silence between them as they walked down through the castle. "All the Weasleys are there, mourning Fred." She glanced over at him. Harry already knew. Ginny had found him earlier in the day to tell him she was going home, and that he should come join them as soon as he could. At the moment, he didn't think he could bear to see them in their grief, not when he was the cause of it. He saw Fred being blown to the ground, buried under fragments of stone. He saw Fred being blown to the ground. And again. And again. His face, still bearing the ghost of his last laugh. He saw Fred -

"Fred's funeral is in a week." Hermione's voice broke the cycle. "After that I'm going to Australia to bring back Mum and Dad. I can't wait to see them again."

Harry heard a hitch in her voice at those last words.

She sighed. "We're not children anymore," she said.

Harry nodded. There was no going back, no undoing the things they'd done, no unseeing the things they'd seen. Harry saw Remus's face, relaxed, but wrong somehow. Harry knew what death did to a face. There was no going back.

They ate dinner in the kitchens. Most of the house elves were there, along with several of the professors, a handful of volunteers, and a dozen Ministry workers brought in to assist with rebuilding the school. Most of the people present for the battle had left for their homes, taking comfort in being among family. There was very little talk, and what conversation they had was of little consequence. Being among the wreckage of the castle reminded each one of their insignificance and vulnerability, and the mood was reflective and somber.

Harry left dinner quickly and went straight to bed. He was thankful that his exhaustion allowed him to fall asleep almost immediately, and when he awoke the next morning he felt more connected to the world around him. He supposed that was the shock beginning to wear off a little. It had now been over two days since he had vanquished Tom Riddle, and although it wasn't his wand that technically cast the fatal spell, he acknowledged that Riddle had died at his hand, and that he was responsible for the death of another man. Although, he reflected, he was responsible for the deaths of a great many men, women, and children. He saw Colin Creevey's body, sprawled in the grass. Yes, he was even responsible for the deaths of children. At this thought, Harry felt a strong urge to break something. Anger rose up in him, but he could not think of anybody who deserved that anger to be directed at but himself, so he strode viciously through the castle's halls, half way between shouting and tears. It was in this state that Hermione found him.

"Harry," she said, then stopped when she saw his face. "Are you alright?"

No, Harry thought, of course I'm not alright. How could I bloody well be alright? He wanted to shout at her, frustrated that she would ask such a question. But he saw the concern in her eyes and knew that she had good intentions, so he took a deep breath and answered, "No. But I don't know how I could be."

"Would you like to talk about it?" Hermione asked tentatively. Harry saw deep shadows under her eyes and a tension around her mouth that told him she was both exhausted and on the verge of tears.

"No, but thank you Hermione. I really do appreciate it," Harry said. "Actually I feel a little better."

And it was true. The anger he had been feeling had been replaced with empathy and concern for Hermione.

"I don't think we should stay here anymore," he said suddenly.

"Oh good," Hermione said with relief. "I can't stand it anymore. But I didn't want to leave you here alone."

"Where do you want to go?"

"I was thinking of the Burrow," she said. "I want to be there for Ron, and maybe I can help Mrs. Weasley around the house so she doesn't have to worry as much."

Harry felt a burning shame. Harry should be strong enough to go comfort Ginny, but even the idea of going to the Burrow made him feel anxious and ill. "I don't think I can go there," he said. "It's too much. Actually I don't know where to go."

Hermione caught his eyes. "It's okay, I understand. How about Grimmauld Place?"

Harry thought for a moment, but the memory of Sirius falling through the veil came to his mind, and he shook his head.

Hermione was silent for a moment. "How about you travel? That way you'll only have to think of yourself, and you can go places you haven't been before. I have a feeling you want to be alone."

The idea felt right to Harry. He didn't want to be around people when his emotions finally caught up to him. He might worry them or say something hurtful to somebody he loved. "That's a brilliant idea," he said. "But you won't be too worried to let me be on my own?" After all, they'd hardly been apart in seven years.

"I know you can take care of yourself, and… I don't think you're a danger to yourself. Am I right?" Hermione asked. She looked even more serious now, and just a hint of uncertainty pulled at her eyebrows.

Harry considered. It was a non-trivial question. "I'm not going to hurt myself," he answered, and then decided to be fully truthful. "But I'm also not sure that I'll ever be okay."

Hermione pulled him into a hug. "It will take time, but I do think you're going to be alright some day," she said. "You have a resilient soul."

Harry wondered if even the most resilient soul could be broken beyond repair, but he put that thought aside and focused his mind on preparing for his departure.


	2. Chapter 2: Diagon Alley

Harry decided to prepare the supplies he needed before he told anybody else about his plan. He was afraid that he would disappoint his friends or that they'd need him in his absence, and he dreaded their reactions when he told them them that he would be leaving. He was honest with himself, though, and he knew that he was standing on the farthest edge of emotional exhaustion, and if he took one step further in that direction, he would fall off and maybe never be able to recover, so he held firmly to his resolve and flooed into the Leaky Cauldron to do some shopping. As soon as he stepped out of the fireplace, a great roar sounded around him. His hand jumped to his wand and his heart was racing before he realized that the shouts were friendly. He looked around and saw that he was surrounded by merry-makers, out enjoying their newly returned ability to gather without fear. He told himself to relax.

Snippets of what people were shouting came through to him.

"Anything is yours on the house, Mr. Potter!"

"You saved my children, Mr. Potter!"

"The Boy Who Lived becomes the Man Who Saved Us All!"

Harry didn't know what to do. The size and volume of the crowd, and the extremity of the praise that they heaped upon him overwhelmed him. He fixed what he hoped was a cheerful smile on his face and nodded and shook hands as he picked his way as quickly as possible to the door at the other side of the room. Finally he made it to the door leading to the entryway into Diagon Alley and wrenched it open. It closed behind him, muffling the last shout of "I'm going to name my first born child after you!" Harry sighed in relief.

I don't deserve that, he thought. I just did what anybody would have done in my position. I was just doing what I could.

He pulled out his invisibility cloak and glanced around to make sure that he was alone, then put it on. Immediately he felt tension he didn't realize he'd been holding leave his body. His breaths came more easily, and he recognized the toll that being around so many people was having on him. He felt even more certain that leaving the wizarding world for a while was the right choice.

He opened the gateway into Diagon Alley and stepped through. The street was crowded, but not as much so as the Leaky Cauldron, and he was able to make his way invisibly to Gringotts bank without too much difficulty. He withdrew 1,000 galleons from his vault and had half of it converted to Muggle money. While he'd been traveling in the cart to and from his vault, he'd thought about what he needed. Food, water, shelter, he thought to himself. Water's easy. I've got a charm for that. For shelter, I need a tent, but I don't want it to look anything like the one that Ron, Hermione, and I were using. Food. I'll have to get it along the way. I guess that won't be a problem now that I don't have to hide.

By the time he left Gringotts, darkness had almost completely fallen and the street was considerably emptier. Most of the shops were closed or closing, and Harry walked without the cloak now, drawing minimal attention.

"Mr. Potter," a voice called softly in the dark. Harry spun to find the speaker. It was Mr. Ollivander, standing in the doorway of his shop. "The Leaky Cauldron is very busy tonight, and I observe that you wish to go about your business without a fuss. Would you perhaps like to step upstairs to my apartment and take dinner with me? I have a spare room and you are welcome to it for the night."

Harry considered for a moment. He hated to impose, but he knew the offer was sincere, and he liked Mr. Ollivander, and trusted that he would not be weird around Harry. Or at least weirder than he normally was. "That would be great, Mr. Ollivander," he said. "Thank you."

"Come in, come in!" Mr. Ollivander commanded delightedly, and Harry obeyed, following him into the shop, through the towering shelves of wands, and up a narrow staircase at the back of the shop. Minutes later, he found himself sitting in a clean but poorly lit kitchen, sharing a meal of roasted chicken and vegetables with the wandmaker. After eating in silence for a few minutes, Mr. Ollivander spoke.

"When you first came into my shop almost seven years ago, I knew instantly who you were. You looked just like your father." Ollivander smiled at the thought, then went on. "You acted rather differently than him, though. Your father loved to be looked at, especially when he was younger, but you were frightened at being noticed. Still are, if I'm not much mistaken."

Harry nodded slightly, and felt a tightness in his throat. There's no need to cry, he told himself silently.

Ollivander continued, "I knew we would have to find you a special wand, a wand that could understand the burden of being a person who didn't want to be seen in a world that wouldn't let you hide. I'm glad that you found such a wand."

A tear rolled down Harry's cheek. He wiped it away. "I'm sorry," he said. "I don't know why I'm crying."

"It's alright, my friend. Yours has been a life of great love, but also great tragedy, and your tears are both understandable and honest. You never have to be afraid of tears."

At this, Harry began to cry in earnest, and for a minute he sat in the chair with his head in his hands and sobbed. He pulled himself together quickly though, and shamefully said, "Those were selfish tears. I was crying for myself, and I shouldn't, because I'm still alive."

"You would not be so quick to dismiss the pain of another person in your position," Mr. Ollivander said gently. "It will take a long time to learn to be as kind to yourself as you are to others, but until then I encourage you to question whether you are treating yourself fairly, and if you find that you are not, question why that might be."

Tears had risen in Harry's eyes again, because there was truth in Mr. Ollivander's words. He would never deny another person their right to grief, not even his enemies, and yet he was unwilling to allow it for himself. He nodded to show that he had heard the man's wisdom.

"Well," Mr. Ollivander said, "I believe it's time for bed." And he showed Harry the bathroom and the guest bedroom, which was low-ceilinged and slightly dusty, but contained a very comfortable bed.

Harry's tears had exhausted him, and he fell asleep quickly. Vaguely unsettling dreams and the novelty of sleeping in an unfamiliar bed interrupted his sleep, but he woke early the next morning with the intention of getting his shopping done before the crowds returned to Diagon Alley. Harry found Mr. Ollivander already at work downstairs in his shop. He thanked him profusely for his kindness, and bid him good-bye, then stepped out onto the street. Besides the store managers setting out their displays, Harry could only see one or two other figures on the street.

He walked down the street towards Wiseacre's Wizarding Equipment, planning to get a tent there. He caught site of a robed figure bent double in the street. Are they hurt, he wondered, or ill? He sped up his pace and his wand appeared in his hand. Just as he was about to break into a run, the figure straightened and walked away, and Harry could see that she'd been examining a small cage full of kittens set outside the Magical Menagerie. Stupid, he told himself. It's not always an emergency. Calm down.

So he slowed to a stop outside the pet shop and looked at the kittens for a moment. He had to admit, they were very cute. On an impulse, he entered the shop.

"Mr. Potter!" the shopkeeper exclaimed the moment Harry was in the door. "How may I be of service today?"

"I think I'd like a cat," Harry said tentatively. "A well-trained one that's not going to scratch things up. A calm one." To balance me out, Harry mentally added.

The shopkeeper looked delighted. "I am sure we have the perfect animal for you, Mr. Potter!" he said excitedly, then proceeded to look in various cages around the room.

Harry took the opportunity to look around the shop. Hanging in a cluster in one of the windows were a dozen shining brass cages, each containing a raven. These weren't ordinary ravens though, Harry observed, because each was a different color, ranging from deep purple to pale grey to golden yellow. Along the wall next to the ravens were rows of tiny cages, each containing a single Pygmy Puff. Harry noted that most of them were pink. Maybe they came naturally in that color.

"Ah," the shopkeeper exclaimed. "Here's just the one."

Harry turned to see him pulling a smooth coated black cat out of a cage. He carried the cat over and put him in Harry's arms.

"She's young," the shopkeeper said, "Barely a year. She's full grown, though she doesn't look it. And she's most frightfully calm. Most people are looking for a cat with a bit of spunk, but this one's just as happy as can be if she's got a sunny spot to perch in. Dead clever, too."

While the shopkeeper delivered his speech, Harry fell in love with the cat. She was on the small side, and her fur was smooth, but also kind of messy like his own. Her eyes were amber colored, and the whole time Harry was holding her, she looked him in the eye and purred.

"I'll take her," Harry said, and the shopkeeper put her in a travelling basket.

They had a bit of an argument as Harry tried to pay – the shopkeeper didn't want to accept his money – but eventually Harry left the store with a cat he had paid for and a litter box and bags of food that he had not. Diagon Alley was a bit busier than when he had first left Ollivander's that morning, but still relatively quiet. He walked the few storefronts over to Wiseacre's Wizarding Equipment without being noticed. When he opened the shop door, a bell tinkled deep in the shop.

"Be with you in a mo,'" a voice called cheerily.

Harry looked down at the cat basket he was carrying in one hand and the bags of cat supplies in the other. If he was attacked while weighed down like this… Stop, Harry told himself firmly. Then he realized that a tent might not work as well as he'd originally planned, now that this wasn't going to be an entirely solo journey. He couldn't very well lug a cat-carrier around the world.

A wizard came thumping out of the back of the shop. He looked very old, with tufty white hair and baggy skin. His eyes were covered in milky cataracts, and he moved around the shop with a long cane, like the kind Muggles used.

"How can I help you today?" the wizard, presumably Mr. Wiseacre, asked.

"I'd like to travel. I was planning on getting a tent, but I just got a cat, and I don't think I can just fold up the tent with the cat still inside…" Harry trailed off.

Mr. Wiseacre chuckled. It was a deep and sincere laughter, and Harry liked the man almost immediately. It helped that Mr. Wiseacre couldn't see well enough to know who his customer was. "Quite the conundrum, you're quite right. But the solution is easy enough if you know what to ask for. Have you heard of old Newt Scamander? He travelled all over the world with a little suitcase, and inside it, he carried a whole zoo! He made that one himself, but once word got out that that's how he was carrying all of his creatures with him, the idea caught on. I have a whole line of them."

Mr. Wiseacre explained that some versions were pre-made and others were customizable, that some had just a room or two of space while others enough room for a large family, and a multitude of other differences between models. Harry settled on a customizable version with two rooms and as many security charms as possible.

"Would you like to have a look inside?" Mr. Wiseacre asked. "It won't be much until you fix it up, but you can at least get a sense of what you're working with and put your cat in there."

Harry agreed, so he set the suitcase on the floor, opened the lid, and stepped inside. He realized he was standing on a steeply inclined metal stairway, and he made his way carefully down until his head was just below the edge of the suitcase. He reached back up outside the case and grabbed the cat carrier and bags, and pulled them in behind him. Then he went down the rest of the way until he was standing on the floor of his new room. He looked around. The room was large, with white walls, ceiling, and floor. The only thing in the room was a thick owner's manual sitting in the middle of the floor. Harry set down the cat carrier and bags and made his way back up the staircase.

Back in the shop, he paid Mr. Wiseacre for the suitcase and a few other odds and ends. As he left the shop, he heard Mr. Wiseacre's voice.

"Good day to you, Mr. Potter."


	3. Chapter 3: Two Times Sorry

Harry was angry, and because he was angry, he was ashamed. He'd finished his shopping in Diagon Alley, but not before more people had shown their misplaced admiration for him. They had all seemed so happy to see him, which just made him feel more frustrated and alone. Their excitement grated against the sorrow that inhabited his chest and mind and left him more conscious of its presence. As soon as he could, he'd Apparated to a field about an hour outside of London, and now he was pacing back and forth in the field. He wanted to badly to break something, so he whipped out his wand and transformed a long blade of wild grass into a glass vase. A little voice in his head that sounded suspiciously like Professor McGonagall congratulated him on a nice bit of transfiguration. Harry grasped the vase and hurled it as hard as he could at a stone. The vase shattered and shards flew all around. He repaired the vase and summoned it back to him, then threw it again. He continued in this way, repairing and breaking the vase in turns, until he was breathing hard from exertion rather than emotion. He looked ruefully at the now whole vase in his hand.

"Sorry," he said aloud to it. "I shouldn't be so angry. Nobody has done anything to me. It's just because I'm sad. And tired."

He made his way to his suitcase, which he'd left where he'd Apparated onto the field, and opened the lid. He climbed down into the suitcase, an experience that he was still very uncomfortable with, leaving the lid open so that he might have some fresh air and light while he figured out how his new home worked. Harry saw the cat carrier still closed on the floor. Damn, he thought. I forgot I have a cat now. He smiled at the ridiculousness of it and opened the lid of the cat carrier. His cat stood up and stretched her legs.

"Hello," Harry said to the cat. "This is your new home." He glanced around. It wasn't much to look at yet. "I'm about to set it up. Maybe you should stay in the carrier for a bit longer. I don't know how this is going to work."

The cat lay back down in the carrier at his words, so Harry left the lid off the basket and settled down on the floor to look at his suitcase's manual. After some trial and error, he picked one side of the room to be the kitchen. He put in a long hardwood countertop and cabinets, and a refrigerator, oven, and stovetop. He also added a kitchen table with a few chairs in the corner. He turned to look at the other half of the room. One corner he decided would be a sitting area, and the other for sleeping. He conjured a bed with a colorful quilt on it, and a little nightstand to go beside it. For the other corner, he installed a couch and a puffy armchair, fireplace, coffee table, and bookshelf. Hermione would like that, Harry thought, although I'll have to get some books to put on it. A tiny room off of the main one became a tiled bathroom.

He surveyed his work. Something seemed off, but he wasn't sure what. He looked back down at the manual. Ah, he realized, windows and a floor would probably be a good idea. He put a reddish hardwood floor down, and a blue rug for the living room corner. Then he performed the wand movements the manual had specified for windows, and the room was flooded with warm sunlight. Several wide windows with simple curtains had appeared around the room. Harry peered out one window and saw that it gave a view of the field the suitcase was sitting in.

Harry was suddenly very tired. He closed the lid of the suitcase and turned a dial that activated all of its protective charms. He collapsed onto the couch. After a moment, the cat padded over and leapt up next to him. He scratched her ears, but his mind was on other things. He saw again Ginny helping the injured girl on the grounds during the ceasefire. The girl had been so frightened and in pain. And Ginny had been so strong, trying to be optimistic for the the girl's sake. Harry knew how difficult that was. He'd hidden so much of his fear and uncertainty from everybody for years. He'd tried to look brave because people expected it of him, and he didn't want to disappoint anyone. He thought again of Ginny, and how she must be suffering.

Tears came into his eyes. At first he tried to stop them, but then he remembered Mr. Ollivander saying, "You never have to be afraid of tears." He fought with himself, part of him still clinging desperately to his composure, and the other part telling himself that it's okay to cry. He finally was able to release control, and the tears came freely. He wasn't sure how long he sat there, but eventually he felt a vibration under his hand that brought him back to reality. He saw that his hand was resting on the cat, and she was purring. He swiped his sleeve across his face and noticed that he felt a little better.

"Maybe it's not only phoenix tears that have healing properties," Harry said to the cat, and then he got up to make some dinner.

Hours later, Harry was lying in bed. He wanted desperately to fall asleep, but he couldn't stop thinking. Scenes from the battle kept replaying in his mind over and over. It was just like after Cedric's death when he kept seeing Cedric fall to the ground, and Sirius's when he would see him falling through the veil. This time was only different in that he had a wider variety of images to flash through, which he didn't think was preferable.

Harry felt trapped. He wanted to think his way out of the loop, but the scenes playing before his eyes dominated his mind and held him captive. He was tired, and his sadness sat like a heavy weight in his chest, pinning him to the bed. He lay in his own misery as hours passed him by. He was alone in near total darkness, broken only by the flashes of curses and explosions playing in his mind.

The cat jumped onto his chest.

"Agh!" Harry yelled, leaping from the bed to his feet in one swift movement as something small flew to the floor with a screech. His wand was in his hand, and he didn't know how it had gotten there. He looked wildly around for the intruder, and saw the silhouette of the cat outlined against the faint light coming from under the bathroom door. "Lumos," he said, then sunk to the floor, shaking from adrenalin and exhaustion. "I'm so sorry," he said to the cat. She walked over to where he was sitting on the floor, pressing herself against him as she walked once around his back, then settled herself onto the armchair.

Harry sighed and got up. He wasn't ready to get back in bed, so he collected his stationary box and sat down at the kitchen table. Under the warm light of his Lumos spell, he pulled out paper and a quill and began to write.


End file.
